


Braving Dragons

by gentlezombie



Category: The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Action/Adventure, Convenient magic items, Conveniently failing magic, M/M, Post-Road of the Patriarch, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sellswords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 22:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15543732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlezombie/pseuds/gentlezombie
Summary: After the whole debacle with Idalia's flute, Entreri and Jarlaxle have gone their separate ways, only to be reunited in less than ideal circumstances. Action, sex and an angry dragon - what more could a mercenary wish for?





	Braving Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> This is set two years after the events of the _Road of the Patriarch_. The revelations caused by Idalia's flute are alluded to, but not addressed in any detail. This is meant to be a light-hearted, silly piece of action and attraction.
> 
> I wrote this fic years ago and never got around to posting it. I know I've used some of the tropes since, but hey, at least I know what I like? This was originally supposed to be a Yuletide treat for someone asking for Sellswords.

“ _You_.” Artemis Entreri skidded to a halt as a familiar, dark figure materialized on his path.

Jarlaxle bowed to him, sweeping his hat in a low arch. A magic missile whizzed over the drow’s head, forcing Entreri to flatten himself against the wall.

“I’m overjoyed to see you as well. Perhaps we could move this reunion to a more peaceful location?” Jarlaxle put the wide-brimmed hat back on his head with care, perfecting the cocky angle.

“I don’t think even a fireball could put an end to that atrocity,” Entreri pointed out as they broke into a run.

“But it wouldn’t be the same.” They ducked into a stairwell and crouched low as lightning crackled through the corridor, reflected from the walls.

“How so?” Entreri asked with a sarcastic raise of his eyebrow.

“Would _you_ feel the same if I let you burn to a crisp, just because I knew you could be resurrected afterwards?” The mercenary flashed Entreri his most charming grin, the one that always gave the assassin an urge to smash something.

A drow who talks about _feelings_ , Entreri thought incredulously. How in the Nine Hells had he managed to find one?

There was noise from both ends of the corridor – the soft thudding of leather boots from the right and the sound of several running mercenary guards from the left. They both looked instinctively to the right as the source of the greater danger.

“This was supposed to be a simple assassination,” Entreri grumbled under his breath. “A nick with the dagger while the guild master is distracted, clean and elegant. And then you turn up and suddenly we have an enraged sorcerer, a keep’s worth of soldiers and a blasted _dragon_ crying out for our blood!”

“The dragon and the sorcerer count as one person,” Jarlaxle pointed out as he drew the extending blades from behind his back. “Half-blood. How was I supposed to know he was related to dragons?”

“He’s the head of the illusionists’ guild. The oh-so-clever Jarlaxle might have suspected that everything isn’t what it seems,” Entreri quipped, although in truth he had been equally amazed to see the meek, well-groomed guild master turn into a roaring beast in the middle of the banquet hall.

“Come out, you filthy murderers!” The angry voice was a curious mix of a dragon’s growl and a human’s soft speech. A quick glance to the corridor confirmed that the half-dragon sorcerer had changed back into his human form. The slender man was dressed in plain, scholarly robes, but his previously brown eyes were glowing dangerously blue. Lightning crackled in his fists as he stalked down the corridor. Now that Entreri knew how to look for it, there was indeed something wyrm-like in the way he turned his head, giving the impression he wasn’t yet completely used to human perception.

“Now, dear Master Isharak, surely you know no offense was intended!” Jarlaxle called out. Entreri cursed as the drow gave away their hiding place, leaving them no option but to fight or back up the stairs to a dead end. Not that he didn’t enjoy fighting – on his own terms, not dragged into other people’s fights. Jarlaxle had an annoying habit of doing the latter.

The half-dragon fixed his penetrating eyes to the stairs. The lightning charge made the hairs at the back of Entreri’s neck stand up.

“Wouldn’t you have a handy magical device you could use right about now?” he hissed at Jarlaxle, wondering whether he’d have time to throttle the mercenary before they were both burned to death.

“Can’t risk using them here,” the drow said. He watched calmly as the guards stormed the corridor. “The whole place is full of interfering magic.” In the same even tone, he added, “duck and run straight forward,” and then the darkness landed.

“To the Hells with you”, Entreri muttered as he ran headfirst into the total chaos. There were angry shouts and the clang of steel on steel as the soldiers tried to find their enemies in the darkness. The crackle of lightning allowed Entreri to locate the sorcerer and guess at his own position – in the middle of a narrow corridor, chock-full of sharp blades and deadly magic.

Then a hand reached out to pull him from the globe of darkness, and he let himself be led, recognizing the surprising force of the slim fingers. They came out to a small balcony facing the banquet hall. Entreri blinked furiously, trying to look for handholds, curtains, anything resembling a way down, but Jarlaxle wasn’t even slowing as he jumped up to the railing. He stood there, perfectly balanced, looking at Entreri expectantly.

“Not a chance,” the assassin said as he realized what the drow was suggesting.

There was an explosion of lightning and screams behind Entreri. The heat scorched the back of his shirt.

Entreri jumped at the exact moment Jarlaxle stepped off the railing.

Clinging to the mercenary hand and foot, the assassin felt ridiculous as they hovered in mid-air, watching the spectacle in the corridor. In his fury, Isharak had unleashed his magic, and the chain reaction continued, lightning bouncing off of every metal surface. The half-dragon himself would be immune to the magic, but the soldiers trapped in the darkness were not as lucky.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Jarlaxle commented on the globe of darkness now decorated with blue zigzags of lightning and the sound of human screams.

“Get us down, you idiot,” Entreri snapped. His legs were wrapped around Jarlaxle’s waist and his fingers were digging into the drow’s shoulders, and although he was athletic enough to maintain the position for quite a while, it was by no means comfortable. Or dignified.

Jarlaxle frowned in concentration as they started to descend. Entreri noted with alarm the beads of sweat gathering on the drow’s forehead. The task shouldn’t have been difficult at all to someone with the drows’ innate magic – unless...

“Don’t tell me you can’t levitate in the light,” Entreri said into Jarlaxle’s ear. “I might have to kill you.”

“Maybe you won’t have to go to the trouble,” Jarlaxle chuckled, but it sounded strained. “It’s more taxing than I anticipated with the both of us.”

The darkness above them was fading, and Entreri noticed several crossbows aimed in their direction.

“Hurry up, damn you!” he hissed to the drow.

“If you want to take the quick way down, I can always drop you,” the mercenary ground out. Entreri was fairly surprised Jarlaxle hadn’t done that already.

They were only ten feet from the ground when Entreri heard the click of crossbows and Jarlaxle flinched suddenly. They fell the remainder of the distance, Entreri landing in a tumble and Jarlaxle stumbling but on his feet, although with less grace than usual. They dashed to the doors, which were guarded by the few soldiers who hadn’t been pursuing them. Entreri got rid of three of them, and Jarlaxle killed two with precisely thrown daggers. Entreri noticed that he wasn’t using his left arm.

Then they were outside in the open air, running for cover, and though Jarlaxle’s breathing was heavier than usual and his speed was only barely equal to the assassin’s, Entreri could hear the mercenary laughing delightedly behind him.

 _Damnable drow_.

* * *

  


Jarlaxle’s mirth dampened somewhat when they realized that most of their enchanted items had been drained of magic or acted erratically – hopefully temporarily, or there would be a lot more bloodshed to come as far as Entreri was concerned. The result was that they were trapped in the middle of the woods with no means of a quick escape.

“Why do I always run into you at inopportune moments?” Entreri wondered aloud as he stoked the little campfire they had built to keep the autumn chill at bay.

“We can’t seem to keep away from each other,” Jarlaxle agreed. He had peeled off his shirt and was inspecting the wound on his back with agile fingers, sighing in frustration as he couldn’t quite reach it. A healing potion had closed the gash in his left arm, but the wound on his back still required attention. “Although I must admit that when you left for Calimport, I truly believed that was the last I’d see of you. For a dead man, you seem rather lively.”

Entreri glared at him. “And if you don’t shut up, you’ll be a lot less alive in a moment.” Contradicting his words, he went over to Jarlaxle and started to go through his pack, looking for bandages.

“Does the past still bother you so?”

The tension Entreri felt against his fingers was the only indication of pain from Jarlaxle as the assassin started to clean the wound left by the crossbow bolt none too gently.

“I’ll not forget again,” Entreri said after a long silence. 

“Yet you seem very different from the man who left Damara.”

“It took me almost two years to feel alive again, and all because of you and your damn meddling!” Entreri snapped. “You never leave anything alone, do you? You of all people should know that some secrets should stay buried!”

“I won’t let anything control me”, he added more quietly. “Especially not the past.”

Jarlaxle rolled his shoulder carefully, testing the binding.

“And do you think you succeed in that, my determined friend?”

“You sound doubtful.”

“You speak of a need for control, something craved most by those who in truth have no control at all.”

The assassin huffed, moving closer to the fire. “You’re the one to lecture me, the scheming Jarlaxle who must always hold all the strings? I can do whatever I desire. That should be enough even for you.”

“Indeed?” the mercenary said softly. “In that case, we should put your conviction to the test.”

Quicker than lightning, the drow was on Entreri, kicking his legs out from under him and taking a chokehold with his good arm. Entreri reacted immediately, finding his footing on the uneven ground and slamming an elbow to Jarlaxle’s gut. It only grazed the nimble drow, but managed to loosen his hold enough for Entreri to throw the smaller fighter over his shoulder. The drow landed perfectly, his grin gleaming white in the dusk.

What was the point of this, a fight with no weapons and no reason? Entreri’s world narrowed down to blocking and parrying, his frustration at the unpredictable drow rising as he realized how evenly matched they were.

That was until he heard the snap of bracers and felt his wrists being pulled inexorably together. He stared in disbelief at the blue dragon scale bracers tossed to him by Jarlaxle in the middle of the mad dash through the estate. _They’ll improve your speed_ , the drow had said. Momentarily distracted, Entreri landed on his back as a series of kicks took him by surprise.

Jarlaxle was on him instantly, holding Entreri’s locked arms above his head and preventing all attempts of throwing him off with his strong leg muscles.

“I’m glad to see these still work,” the mercenary said conversationally, tapping at the blue scales with one finger. “A psionic trigger. Very convenient.”

Then Jarlaxle looked down at the seething assassin who refused to turn away from the intense red stare. Through his ruined shirt Entreri felt the needles and rocks on the ground as well as the heat of the dark elf on top of him, the weight of him heavier somehow when felt like this, and he understood belatedly what this was about.

“Let me take a guess at what you desire,” Jarlaxle whispered in his ear, insufferably close, insufferably smug.

“What’s the point of this, you crazy elf?” Entreri growled, testing the hold of the bracers. There was no give, but he could still move his hands. “What makes you think I’d want _you_?”

Jarlaxle smiled down at him. “The way you act around me, and around me alone, and the fact that you haven’t killed me yet with that rock you are holding. I have spent more decades dedicated to these matters than you, human.” He used the common word, not the derogatory drow term. It sounded strangely affectionate. “We’ll know soon, in any case.”

It couldn’t really be called a kiss. There were too many teeth and too many muffled curses involved, but it was hot and certain and shook the assassin to his core. Entreri’s fingers opened and closed around the rock as he tried to match Jarlaxle's clever tongue and felt the pressure of the drow’s knee between his legs. He had more leverage now and could have flipped them over had he wanted to. Instead he opened his mouth, let go of the rock and bent his knee to the side. He was surprised by his ability to do so.

Jarlaxle paused to look at him, his fingers still splayed under Entreri’s shirt. The careful touch on old scars was maddening. It was very much like he’d imagined – and he had, inevitably, because on their travels Jarlaxle had been a distraction in every possible way. Frustrating, sensual, fickle. A constant annoyance.

“Say ‘I told you so’ and I promise you I’ll torture you to death,” Entreri snapped.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” the mercenary replied with a grin.

It had been many years since the assassin had been with a man, and certainly never like this. He found that he liked the hard planes of muscle, the absolute certainty of Jarlaxle’s hands. He was keeping his arms in place on his own as Jarlaxle’s good hand slipped beneath his waistband, drew in a sharp breath as the drow’s fingers wrapped around aching flesh. The restrictive bracers around his wrists were oddly erotic, their unyielding hold almost better than the drow’s skilful hand. He concentrated on them and, very carefully, did not remember.

And strangely enough, as he writhed under the mercenary’s expert touch, he realized that this had nothing to do with winning or losing, but a lot to do with true freedom. Although Jarlaxle’s hand and mouth kept him firmly grounded, he felt light, lighter than in years.

With a growl, Entreri rolled them over, pinning the drow down easily even with his arms still restrained. Jarlaxle hissed as his injured back hit the ground, but he made himself relax again with practised effort.

“A change of heart?” Jarlaxle asked, his legs wrapped loosely around the assassin’s waist, all points of contact sources of scorching heat.

“You wanted to know what I desire,” Entreri replied, his dull gray eyes more alive than Jarlaxle had ever seen them. The assassin ground his hips against the dark elf’s and kissed him like a man confident of his goal. Although slightly surprised by this turn of events, Jarlaxle opened up readily enough under him, tangling his undamaged hand in Entreri’s hair as the killer left a trail of bruising bites down his throat.

He was an opportunist, after all.

* * *

  


Later, warming by the fire and rubbing feeling back into his wrists, Entreri asked a question that had been nagging at him.

“What exactly did you do to invite Isharak’s fury? He’d been successfully posing as a human for over a decade.”

Jarlaxle shook his head ruefully. “In retrospect, the dragon scale bracers may have been a little insensitive a bribe. It might have been one of his relatives.”

Entreri had no choice but to laugh. The sound of it was hoarse and unfamiliar after two years of disuse. This was always the way with Jarlaxle: the drow kept dragging him into uncomfortable situations, but he also possessed the unique ability to make him laugh.

To the assassin, the two skills were much the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
